IN  THE   FIELDS 


BY 

MARY  E.  N.  HATHEWAY 

il 


BOSTON 
D.  LOTHROP  &  COMPANY 

FRANKLIN     STREET   CORNER     OF    HAWLEY 


COPYRIGHT   BY 

LOTHROP    &    CO. 


M.    M.    H. 


Who,  while  the  dreams  of  vanished  days  shall  hover 
In  light  and  shade  above  the  page  she  reads, 

May  here  and  there  some  simple  flower  discover, 
Unseen  by  others  'mid  the  grass  and  weeds. 


M191952 


CONTENTS. 


In  the  Fields 9 

Noon '    .        .        .  13 

To-Morrow 15 

Live  and  Lose 17 

An  Old  Portrait .  19 

Hope 22 

The  Last  Voyage .24 

Indian  Summer 27 

Happiness 3° 

The  Sphinx 32 

Light  and  Shade 34 

The  Unfinished 36 

Sing  On   . 38 

Likeness 40 

Morning-Glories .        .  41 

Resignation 43 

Pandora 45 

The  First  Flower 48 


vi  CONTENTS. 

My  Dream 151 

Parted       .                         54 

Endymion 56 

Silence  With  a  Friend 58 

Everlasting 60 

Common  Things 62 

Youth 65 

Gathering  Trailing  Arbutus 67 

Undine 70 

A  Butterfly  in  Autumn 71 

The  Saxifrage 74 

The  Lover's  Question 76 

The  Brook 78 

Going  Early go 

Atalanta 82 

Each  in  Its    Sphere 84 

Her  Choice 86 

"  We  Have  Need  of  all  These  Things"      ....  88 

When   I  Am  Gone go 

The  Seeker 03 

Doubt .        .        .  og 

Autumn    Song        .........  08 

Beside  a  Grave IOI 

The  Mother's  Child IO3 

Recognition IO6 

Apples i  og 

Tell  Me ril 

The  Present  Heaven 


CONTENTS.  vii 

A  Winter  View ,        .        .115 

Renewal.        .                118 

VERSES  FOR  CHILDREN. 

Driving  Home  the  Cows 123 

'•What  I  Would  Do" 126 

Second  Childhood 128 

Pat's  Doll 132 

Birds  in  Autumn 135 

The   Dead  Horse 137 

Red-Riding-Hood .        .        .  140 

Give  and  Take 142 

Cradle  Song 144 

Wishing  and  Working 147 

Grandmother's  Cap 149 

Little  Sister !^2 

The   Organ  Player 154 

Brother's    Bedtime I56 

Pop-Corn jcg 

The  Snow-Bird IDo 

Counting  the   Cost 162 


IN  THE   FIELDS. 

IN  the  fields,  that  far  and  wide 
Reach  from  dawn  to  sunset  line, 
Through  all  chance  and  change  abide 
Treasure  and  estate  of  mine. 

Blessed  are  my  vales  and  hills 
Overspread  by  happy  flocks, 

Watered  by  unnumbered  rills 

Flashing  'mid  the  trees  and  rocks. 

Whence  my  title,  wouldst  thou  know  ? 

Not  for  monies   duly  told, 
Not  by  deeds  of  valid   show 

I  my  acres  count  and  hold ;  — 


IIS"    THE    FIELDS. 

But  bylaw  these  forms  above  — 

Old  as  time,  yet  ne'er  outgrown,  — 
"What  we  recognize  and  love 

In  very  truth,  becomes  our  own." 

So  may  we  obtain  supplies 

From  the  knowledge  earth   has  won, 
From  the  ordering  of  the  skies, 

From  the  affluence  of  the  sun. 

And  by  kindred  senses  fine 

In  this  life  of  each  in  all, 
I  have  heritage  divine, 

I  am  linked  to  great  and  small. 

I  am  wiser,  that  the  rose 

Blossoms  with  her  radiant  throng, 
That  the  untaught  birdling  knows 

All  his  wondrous  arts  pf  song. 


IN   THE    FIELDS.  Ir 

Richer,  for  the  gold-dust  poured 

On   the  wings  of  butterflies, 
And  the  cells  with   honey  stored 

That  the   cunning  bees  devise. 

Not  the  summer  only  shares 

Royal  bounty  with  my  fields, 
Every  season  harvest  bears 

And  unfailing  fortune  yields. 

Thus,  free  largess  I  receive, 

While  the  owners  of  the  soil, 
Labor  on  from  dawn  till   eve, 

Worn  and  bowed  with  care  and  toil 

Nature  unto  them  is  dear 

Only  to  be  bought  and  sold ; 
Not  for  them   her  works  are  fair, 

And  her   oracles  are  told. 


12  IN  THP:  FIELDS. 

Though  with  broader-reaching  years 
Still  I  add  to  my  estates, 

Naught  of  mine  conflicts  with  theirs, 
Neither  for  the  other  waits: 

While  my  portion's  guarded  well 

In  creation's  living  soul, 
They  hold  fast  the  form,  the  shell, 

Dreaming  they  possess  the  whole. 


NOON. 

r  •  ^HOU  perfect  hour  of  radiant  sky, 

-*-      And  blooming  earth,  and  sparkling  sea! 
Where'er  my  shadowy  fancy  turns, 
Thy  flashing  glories  answer  me. 
Oh  !  touch  this  dazzling  world  with  change, 
Invoke  the  breezes  loitering  nigh, 
And  beckon  yonder  fleecy  cloud 
To  veil  thy  light  too  keen  and  high. 


Go,   hasten  from   the  zenith   down 
Into   the  lowlands   of  the   west, 
Where   folded  blossoms   nod   and  dream, 
And  vespers  soothe  the  soul  to   rest ; 


14  NOON. 


Invite  the  starry  flocks  abroad, 
Where  Hesperus  shall  lead  the  way, 
Thy  crown  and  sceptre  lay  aside, 
And  shut  the  golden  gates  of  day. 


Then,  in  the  dew-fall  soft  and  cool, 
With   pensive   step    I'll  wander  on, 
And  backward   glance  of  dim  regret 
For  that  which  is  forever  gone  ; 
And  wearing  thus   that   mystic   charm 
So   sweetly  sad  to  feel  and  tell 
That  clings  to   all   departed  things, 
I'll  think   of  thee   and   love   thee  well. 


TO-MORROW. 

CHILDREN,  we  come  at  eventide 
Our  weariness  and  griefs  to  tell, 
And  trust  the  wise  maternal   voice, 
"  To-morrow,  love,  will  all  be  well." 

And  farther  on,  when  rougher  ways 
Stretch  long  before  our  shrinking  eyes, 

The  heart  will  hush  its  sighs  to  dream 
Of  rest  that  in  To-morrow  lies. 

Whate'er  the  triumphs  of  to-day, 

The"  present  joys   wherein  we  share, 
This  promise  lures  us  still  beyond  — 
"  To-morrow  holds  a  gift  more  fair." 


l6  TO-MORROW. 

All  art,  all  Nature  that  we  know, 
Of  highest  beauty,  noblest  use, 

Grows  dim  before  the  fancied  shapes 
That  some  To-morrow  may  produce. 

The  fleet  magician  flies  uncaught 
From  star  to  star,  from  'sun  to  sun, 

While  our  untiring  steps   pursue 

With  hopes  that  mortal  years  outrun. 

And  when  our  utmost  earth  is  reached, 
Fast   holding  the  Eternal   Hand, 

We   go  with  childlike  faith  to  find 
To-morrow  in  the  Heavenly  Land. 


LIVE  AND  LOSE. 

IF  life  retained  its  gifts  in  time's  despite, 
Beyond  the  touch  of  losses  and  decay, 
Till  climbing-  upward  in  the  long-drawn   light 
They  reached  the  summit  of  their  perfect  day ; 

If  beauty  kept  for  us  its  morning  glow, 
No  petal  shedding  in  the  sun  or  rain, 

And  warbling  summer  stayed,  untaught  to  know 
The  hush  of  autumn  on  its  glad  refrain  ; 

Alas!  when  sovereign  of  the  safe,  bright  years, 
Above  the  stress  of  daily  want  and  care, 

The  spirit  would   recall   its   hopes    and    fears, 
Glad  in  the  mortal  heritage  to  share. 


LIVE  AND   LOSE. 

For  'tis  not  joy  to  bask  in  sure  delight, 
Nor  wealth  to  reach  completion  of  desire ; 

The  victories  are  snatched  from  hours  in  flight, 
And  harvests  gathered  through  the  frost  and  fire. 

Let  the  bud  bloom,  fade,  and  exhale  in  air; 

Let  youth's   enchantments   vanish  as  they  choose, 
With  no  returning,  else  were  they  less  fair, 

For  this  is  best,  to  bravely  live  and  lose, 


AN  OLD  PORTRAIT 

NOTHING  but  canvas  and  paint! 
Of  years  that  are  vanished  a  part! 
But  an  image  of  exquisite  truth, 
In  the  radiant  fulness  of  youth 
Embalmed  by  the  magic  of  art. 

What  were  her  name  and  estate 
No  record  or  legend  has  told, 
Nor  whose  was  the  skill  to  combine 
Such  marvelous  color  and  line, 
Nor  if  'twere  for  love  or  for  gold. 

Let  the  past  the  fair  mystery  hold 
Aloof  from  to-day's  tell-tale  breath; 


20  AN    OLD    P6RTRAIT. 

I  dream,  standing  here  by  its  side, 
She  was  noble  in  beauty  and  pride, 
Noble  in  life,  and  in  death. 


Note  the  gracious  breadth  of  the  brow, 
And  the  sweet  gaze  that  turns  not  away, 
But  follows  you  near  and  afar, 
Like  a  faithful,  beneficent  star, 
O'erruling  the  night  and  the  day. 

Love  dwelt  in  her  soul  as  a  flame, — 
Oh,  mark  you  her  mouth's  regal  curve  ! 
A  flame  mounting  higher  and  higher, 
Born  and  fed  from  celestial    fire, 
That  ne'er  from  its  birthright  could  swerve. 

Her  hand  consummate  in  grace, 
Were  a  hand  to  clasp  for  a  friend  ; 
Most  constant  and  tender  and  strong, 


AN   OLD   PORTRAIT.  21 

When  days  were  most  bitter  and  long, 
Clasping  on  and  on  to  the  end. 

Dead  and  in  dust  years  ago  ! 
A  century's  glamour  and  gloom 
May  have  drifted  over  her  head, 
Till  friends  and  kindred  have  sped, 
And  the  world  has  forgotten  her  tomb: 

Yet  I  dream  by  the  picture  that  waits, 
The  sphinx  without  motion  or  breath, 
Of  something  that  still  doth  abide 
Of  the  noble  in  beauty  and   pride, 
The  noble  in  life  and  in  death. 


HOPE. 

\  TK  7HAT  though  to-day  have  slow  and  dreary  dawning, 
All  chilled  and  whitened  by  December's   storm  ? 
I  feel  the  pulses  of  approaching  summer 

Beneath  the  snow-drift  beating  fast  and  warm. 

And  soon  the  honeyed   blossom  of  the  meadow 
Shall  be  again  the  wandering  insect's  mark  ; 

The  woodland  lake  shall  have  its  whispering  sedges, 
The  eve  its  glow-worm,  and  the  heaven  its  lark. 

And  I  shall  have  thee,  thee,  my  own  heart's  chosen, 
The  bloom  and  music  of  my  earth  and  sky, 

Content  I  wait  the  rapture  of  thy  coming, 
Nor  snatch  at  barren  pleasures  fleeting  by. 


HOPE.  23 

Oh,  happy  lot  to  me  the  fates  have  granted ! 

Not  mine  the  part  o'er  loss  and  wrong  to  grieve; 
I  see  new  joys  forever  hastening  towards   me, 

I  sing  through  shade  and  sunshine,  and  believe. 


THE  LAST  VOYAGE. 

!  sail  no  more  the  treacherous  seas," 
Cried  Margery,  gazing  down  the   bay. 
'The  winds   and   waves   may   claim  thy  life, 
Then  what  my   breaking  heart  can    stay?" 

But   cheerily   her  lover  spoke, 

Dispelling  fears  with   tender   scorn  ; 

I   go   in  search  of  jewels   rare, 
My   Margery's  beauty  to   adorn. 

"  One  voyage  more,   and   'tis   the   last ; 

Then    I  return   to   seek   my   bride, 
And   lead    her   forth   in    rich   array, 

The    fairest    of  the   country-side." 


THE    LAST  VOYAGE.  . 

'  Sweet   fortune   'twere,    indeed, "   she  said, 
"  To   be  the  chosen   queen  of  girls ; 
But   hearts   may   only  wear  one   crown, 
And    love   is   more  than   gold    and   pearls. 

The  winds   blew  fresh   across  the  main, 

And   called   the  goodly   ship   to   go ; 
And  so   they   parted,    murmuring   oft, 
"  'Tis   the  last   farewell    we    shall    know." 

One  on   the   sea,   and   one   on   shore, 
One   strong  to   dare,  and   one   to   wait ; 

And   one  goes  down   in   storm   and  wreck, 
And   one   in   calm   moves  *  on   to   fate. 

The   tides   come   in,    the   tides   go   out, 
While    Margery   wanders  to   and    fro, 

Forever  gazing  towards   the   sea, 

The   cruel   sea  that  wrought   her   woe. 


26  »  THE     LAST   VOYAGE. 

A  whiteness  gathers   on   her  cheek, 

And    streaks   too   soon   her  golden   curls  ; 
"  Ah,   me ! "   she   moans,   in   tearless   pain, 
"  True  love   is   more   than   gold   and  pearls. 

And,   dreaming  of  life's  jewel  lost, 

She  drifts  unfearing  to   the   sea  — 
The   silent  sea,   that  brings  none  back  ; 
"  The   last  voyage ! "  sighed   poor  Margery. 


INDIAN    SUMMER, 

AS  a  fond  mother  when  the  day-time  closes, 
Anxious  to  keep  her  loved  ones  in  her  sight, 
Goes  yet  again  to  hover  round  their  pillows, 
To  give  another  kiss,  one  more  "good-night;" 

So  the  kind  Summer  when  her  hours  are  counted, 
Clings  to  the  life  that  she  has  made  so  fair; 

Though  spent  and  wasted  are  her  royal  treasures, 
And  shattered  lie  the  idols  of  her  care. 

Where  she  so  late  as  sovereign  queen  of  Nature 
Held  her  high  court,  and  ruled  her  realm  alone, 

Now  she  must  play  the  part  of  maid  of  honor, 
In  meek  submission  to  a  rival  throne. 


28  INDIAN     SUMMER. 

Often  by  frosts  and  Boreal  blasts  affrighted, 
Adown  the  south  reluctantly  she  hies ; 

And  then  comes  softly  back  when  storms  are  ended, 
With  messages  of  gladness  from  the  skies. 


Among  the  vaporous  hills  she  loves  to  tarry, 
Where  spicy  perfumes  linger  on  the  breeze 

That  wanders  idly  round  the  yellow  farm-lands, 
Catching  faint  echoes  of  the  harvest  glees. 

The  woods  and  groves  though  shorn  x>f  early  splendors, 

Beneath  her  smiles  a  fitful  joy  confess; 
And  all  the  landscape  waiting  in  her  presence 

Seems  leaning  towards  her  for  a  last  caress: 

Waiting  in  pensive  silence,  memory-haunted, 
Steeped  in  the  languid  sweetness  of  her  breath, 

While  with  regretful  steps  the  fair  enchantress 
Goes  down  the  deepening  twilights  to  her  death. 


INDIAN    SUMMER.  29 

Staying  to  charm,  till  she  can  charm  no  longer; 

Then,  dying  'mid  the  scenes  she  lived  to  cheer, 
Leaving  the  sad-voiced  days  a  requiem  chanting 

Over  the  martyred  beauty  of  the  year. 


HAPPINESS. 


any  power  command  ihy  stay, 
Or  charm  thy  fleeting  step  delay, 
And  all  our  times  and  seasons   course 
In  one  unbroken  joyous  way  ;  — 

Could  it  be  thus,  the  sated   heart 
Would  never  know  thee  as  thou   art; 
Thy  fairest  phases  only  shine 
When  thou  art  ready  to  depart. 

No  skilled  device  of  lock  or  bar 
Can  keep  thee  near,  or  hold   thee  far  ; 
No  outward  rank  that  fortune  lends 
Thy  inward  grace  can  make  or  mar. 


HAPPINESS.  31 


Our  mortal  sense  may  not  disown 
Thy  spells  celestial  round  us  thrown, 
With  constant  steps  we  follow  thee, 
And  venture  all  for  thy  unknown. 

Yet,  thy  pursuers  fail  to  snare 
Thy  essence  subtile  as  the  air, 
While  they  who  have  forgotten  thee 
May  chance  to  meet  thee  unaware 

Then,  wisest  he  who  keeps  his  pace, 
Nor  worships  thy  beguiling  face, 
For  whereso'er  his  path  may  lie 
Thou  still  canst  find  him  in  his  place. 


THE   SPHINX. 

SHE  fronts  the  traveler  as  he  goes, 
A  power  to  threaten  and  beguile ; 
And  fear  and  love  awake  before 
Her  lion  strength,  her  woman   smile. 

She  bids  him  seek  her  mystery, 

And  solve  her  riddle  strange  and   dim  ; 

With  art  and  wisdom  matched  against 
The  doom  that  waits  to  conquer  him. 


But  vain  the  contest  and  the  toil, 
The  weary  heart,  the  wasted  breath  ; 

The  mystic  meaning  still  is  veiled, 
And   all  endeavor  ends  in  death. 


THE   SPHINX.  33 

For,  should  her  master-spirit  rise, 
And  lay  her  secret  bare  and  free, 

She  from  her  eminence  must  fall, 

And  cease  from  strife,  and  cease  to  be. 

O  life !  whose  subtle  charm  allures. 

O  life!  whose  will  inviolate 
Forever  challenges  the  soul 

To  solve  the  mystery  of  fate  : 

And  strive  where  it  shall  not  attain, 
And  grasp  at  shadows  that  elude  ; 

Till,  faltering,  it  quits  the  chase, 
And  leaves  the  tempter  unsubdued. 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE. 

O  FAIREST  rose  the  garden  knows  ! 
This  hour  your  brightest  hues  display ; 
With  leafy  show  each  thorn  o'ergrow, 
Behold  !  the  Fairest  comes  this  way. 

O  sunshine !  lay  your  gentlest  ray 
Upon  the  earth  as  she  draws  near; 

Such  comfort  spread  beneath  her  tread 
That   she   may  find   contentment   here. 

O   happy  thrush  !   no   longer  hush, 

But   pour  your  melodies   around, 
Till   soul   and   sense   in   sweet   suspense 

Shall  deem    the   place   enchanted   ground. 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE. 

O  laughing  stream  !   with    wavering  gleam 
Responsive  to  each  airy  thrill, 

Her  waiting  heart   untaught   by  art 
With  dreams  of  bliss   and   beauty  fill. 

She  comes,   she  goes  ;  shut  wasted   rose, 
No   longer  flaunt  your  splendors   vain ; 

Discordant   bird,   no   more   be   heard ! 
Your  song  her   steps   can   ne'er  detain. 

Hide,  sunshine,   hide  your  glaring  pride, 
Flow,    sighing  stream,   in   sadness   on ; 

For  color  flies,   and   music   dies, 
And  light   is  shade   now   she   is  gone. 


THE   UNFINISHED. 

WHEN  in   Aladdin's   hall  the  genii   wrought, 
With   potent   spell   that   mortals  never  knew, 
Till,  shaped   in  order   'neath   their   magic   thought 
The   splendid  marvel  grew  ; 

To   rare  completion,   as   a  flower  might   blow 

With  radiant   swiftness   in   the  morning  air, — 
One   casement   stood   amidst  the   glittering  show 
Left  unadorned   and   bare. 

And  though  all   cunning   men   their  powers  invoke 
With   priceless  gems  to   deck   the  vacant  place; 
No   learned   skill   could  match   the   spirit-stroke 
Unruled   by  time   and   space. 


THE   UNFINISHED. 


Thus   did   the   master-genius  of  our   day 
The   palaces   of  fiction   plan   and   build, 
While   forms  made  glorious  from  earth's  common  clay 
The   magic   structures   filled. 


But  when  too  suddenly  the  fire  grew  cold, 

And  worlds  no  more  its  luminous  wonders  greet, 
One  shadowed  *"  mystery  "  is  left   untold, 
A   statue   incomplete. 

And  passing  vain  must  all  attempt  be  found 

To  touch  the  sacred  work  with   equal    hand, 
The  beauteous  fragment  with    its  secret  crowned 
Forever  thus  must  stand. 

*"The  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood.-'5 


SING  ON. 

SING  on,  O  nightingale  ! 
The  winds  are  cold   and  high 
The   stars   are  few  and  pale, 

The  gathering  storm  is  nigh; 
A   thorn  is  at   thy  breast 
That   fain  would   do   thee  wrong; 

But  lull   thy  pain   to  rest, 
And   drown   the  storm  with  song. 


Bloom   bravely  on,    O   flower! 

Thy   fragrant  gifts  repeat, 
Nor  shrink   for  drenching  shower, 

Nor  waste  for  noontide  heat; 


SING  ON. 

Haste  with   thy   garlands   fair 
Before  the   frost   and   snow, 

And   strow   with   bounteous  care 
A   grave   that  lies   below. 

Sing  on,  and  bloom,  O  heart ! 

Though  evil  days  endure, 
Though   fondest  lovers   part, 

And  only  grief  seem   sure ; 
Life  shall  retrieve  the  hours, 

For  Heaven  alone  is  long ; 
Then   strow  thy  graves  with  flowers, 

And  still  thy  sighs  with  song. 


39 


LIKENESS. 

AS  Ciytie   in   her   raptured  dreaming 
Forgot  her   nature's   wonted   ways, 
Put   on  the   sun-god's  flowery  seeming, 
And  never  more  withdrew  her  gaze  ; 

Thus,  countless   lives  some   fervid   vision 
With   potent   force   may  warp   and   sway. 

Until   in  beauty    or  derision 
They  bear  its   stamp   and   doom  for  aye 

O  soul!  beware  thy  ruling  passion, 
Since  all   the  fates   about   it   throng 

To  bend   and   shape   thee   to   its  fashion, 
To   wing   thy    flight,  and    tune   thy  song. 


MORNING-GLORIES. 

JENNY,   the    mistress  and  maid  of   the   dairy, 
Over  its  window  old-fashioned  and  bare 
A  vine  of  the  morning-glory  is  training, 

Veiling  the  place  from  the  noon's  vivid  glare. 

Swiftly  it  climbs  and  surrounds  the  rude  lattice, 
In  joyous  impatience  its  work  to  complete, 

Circled  and  crowned  by  its  lightly  poised  blossoms 
Ever  awake  the  first  dawning  to  greet. 

Calling  the   bee  from   his  feast  in   the   clover, 

Tempting  the  butterfly  still  to  delay, 
While  hither  and  thither  the  humming  birds  darting, 

Snatch   at  their  sweets   and  then  vanish    away. 


42  MORNING-GLORIES. 

The  sunshine  steals  in  through  the  wavering  curtain, 
Now  softened  by  shadows  wherever  it  falls, 

While  Jenny   is  busy  with  skimming  and   churning. 
Or  moulding  the  butter  in   bright  golden   balls. 

Sometimes  she  pauses,  and  peeps  from  the  casement 
Catching  a  song,  or  a  whistle's  refrain ; 

She  knows  who  is  coming,  her  stalwart  young  lover, 
Driving  his  oxen  along  the  rough  lane. 

And  then  she  may  linger  perchance,  in  the  doorway, 
A  sentence  of  magical  meaning  to  speak  ; 

Again  to  her  blithe  round  of  duties  returning, 
With  sprightlier  footstep,  and  rosier  cheek. 

Fair  is  her  window    with*  vines  over-shaded, 

With  beauty  and  sweetness  enclosing  her  room  ; 

Fair  is  her  life,  with  love's  morning-glory 
Wreathing  her  heart  with  its  fragrance  and  bloom. 


RESIGNATION. 


ER  sighs  with  soft  complaining, 
"Ah,  my  golden  days  are  waning! 
Yielding  to  the   fates'   bereaving 
I  must  lay  my  sceptre  down  : 
Swallow-flocks  their  ranks  are  filling, 
Locusts  in  the  fields  are  shrilling, 
Moths  their  silken  shrouds  are  weaving, 
And  the  grass  is  turning  brown. 


I  have  drained  my  perfect  measure 
Of  desire,  fruition,  pleasure  ; 
From   the  sun  all-glorious  springing, 
With  the  gitts  of  heavenly  birth,  — 


RESIGNATION. 

T'T' 

I  have  poured  from  founts   o'erflowing 
Streams  of  life  in  full  bestowing, 
Floods  of  joy  and  beauty  bringing 
To  the  barren  hills  of  earth. 

Now  in   still,   reposeful  valleys 
1   but  wait  where  noontide   dallies, 
While  round   me  deeper  hover 
Forebodings  sad  yet   sweet ; 
Soon   my  latest  bloom   shall   wither, 
Soon   the   frosts  iny  dews  will  gather, 
And  the  snows  my  footprints   cover 
'Neath   their   pallid  winding-sheet." 


PANDORA. 

ONCE  there  lived  a  beauteous  maid 
Named  Pandora,  we  are  told  ;  — 
(This  was  many  years   ago, 
In  the  happy  age  of  gold.) 

She  had  eyes  of  radiant  light 

Ever  seeking  realms  afar, 
Gazing  on  from   day  to  day, 

Gazing  on  from  star  to  star.  * 

And  a  box  to  her  was  brought 
Filled  with  gifts  of  value  rare; 

But  the  lid  she  must  not   raise,  — 
Thus  the  oracles  declare. 


46  PANDORA. 

Long  she  kept  her  precious  charge 
Clasped  in  faithful,  fervent  hands, 

Searching  with  her  radiant  eyes 
All  the  breadth  of  seas  and  lands. 

Then,  at  length,  she  pined  to  know 
What  within  the  box  was  hid  ;  — 

So,  the  oracles  forgot, 

Eagerly  she  raised  the  lid. 

But    before  her  curious  glance 

Could  discern  the  wondrous  things, 
Out  abroad  they  quickly  flew, 

Hastening  off  on  dazzling  wings. 

• 

Then,  Pandora  all  aghast 

At  the  mischief  she  had  done, 

Closed  the  cover,  but,  alas! 
Every  gift  had  flown  save  one. 


PANDORA.  47 

And   the  spirits  shining-winged 

Came   not  back   from   sea  or  shore, 

Though  'she  watched  and  waited  there, 
Waited  for  them  evermore ; 

Clasping  close  the  fatal  box, 

Searching  still  with  radiant  eyes 
All  the  hill-tops   of  the   earth, 

All  the  hollows  of  the  skies. 


THE  FIRST  FLOWER. 

UNDER  the  frozen  sod  and  the  sno\v-diift   lying, 
Sleeping  unheeclful  of  frosts  and  tempestuous  skies, 
Keeping  its  secret  of  being  unchanged  and  undying, 
It  waited  its  season  to  wake  from  the  dust  and  arise. 

Unto  its  law  submissive  in  willing  devotion  ; 

Forces  unnumbered  and  mystical,  pitiless,  sweet, 
Wrought   through     the    hours     of     darkness,     decay    and 
commotion, 

With  unwearied  patience  making  its  purpose  complete. 

March  with   her  free,  wild  step  heralding  winter's 

outgoing, 
Startled  the  sentient  germ  from  its  lingering  trance; 


THE   FFRST    FLOWER.  49 

The  south-wind's  bugle  anon,   cheerily,  hopefully  blowing, 
Sounded  o'er  hill-top  and  valley  the   note  of  advance. 

Nearer  the  sunbeams  drew,  warming  its  chill  earthy 

cover,  * 

Forth  to  the  daylight  beguiling  it  gently  along ; 
Over  it  flitted  the  blue-bird,  April's  rapturous  lover, 
Seeking  his  last  year's  home  with  grateful  tribute   of 
song. 

Thou  child  of  the  fields,  thou  hast   needed   no    sheltering 

garden, 

No  artful  endeavor  to  foster  thy  budding  and    bloom ; 
Nature  in  primitive  joy  was  thy  nurse  and  thy  warden, 
Appointing  thy  measure  of  beauty,,  thy  mission   and 
doom. 

O  firstling  of  blossoms!  thou  sayest  to  heart  and  to 

reason 

"  Keep    true    thy  ideals    through   all  the  world-changes 
and  strife, 


SO  THE   FIRST   FLOWER. 

With  far-reaching  patience  beholding  a  consummate 

season 
That  bears  in  its  courses  the  perfect  fruition  of  life." 

Oh  !  but  to  yield  me  more  flexile  to  infinite  forces 
Calling  with  varied  voices  from  morning  till  even, 

"  Up !  up  !  and  away  from  the  lowlands  and  .earthly 

resources 
Into  the  sunshine  and  song  and  the  breezes  of  Heaven." 


MY  DREAM. 

CLOSE  are  the  walls  that  shut  me  in 
Amid  the  restless  city's   din, 
Where  stern  necessity  demands 
Unceasing  toil  with  brain  and  hands. 

For  higher  walls  that  intervene 

No  glimpse  of  sun  or  sky  is  seen ; 

Alike  the  passing  seasons  show 

Through  summer's  bloom,  and  winter's  snow. 

But,  as  the  sea-shell  evermore 
Divided  from  its  native  shore, 
Shall  in  its  secret  chambers  keep 
The  echo  of  the   far-off  deep ; 


MY   DREAM. 

Thus  I,  from  scenes  I  love  apart, 
Still  bear  their  image  in  my  heart; 
And  visions  come  to  solace   me 
Of  joyful  worlds  I   may  not   see. 

I  stroll  at  leisure  in  my  dreams 
Beside  fair,  memory-haunted  streams, 
Or  lie  at  rest  in  easeful  mood 
In  sunlit  glen  or  vernal  wood; — 

Where  the  fresh  springing  grasses    set 
With  daisy,  fern  and  violet, 
In  wind-tossed  waves  about  my  bed    . 
Their  soft,  ambrosial  odors  shed. 

I  hear  beyond  the  noisy  street 
The  heifer's  low,   the  lambkin's  bleat, 
The  rustle  of  the  ripening  grain, 
The  tinkling  waterfall's  refrain. 


MY   DREAM.  -        53 

Where  Nature  pours  her  choicest  wine, 
And  lavishes  her  gifts  divine, 
My  Fancy  roams  an  honored  guest, 
With   golden  wealth  and  freedom  blessed. 

So  I  with  patient  hope  may  bear 
This  weight  of  toil,  restraint  and  care, 
Till  they  but  only  seem  to  be  — 
My  dream  is  my  reality. 


PARTED. 

TNTENT  on  every  trace  of  thee  I  go, 

A     Searching  the  silent  house  from  floor  to  floor, 

With  footsteps  lingering  above,  below, 

Spell-drawn  wherever   thine  have  trod  before. 

Whatever  in  our  blended  yesterdays 
Was  precious  in  thy  sight  by  use  or  wear, 

Now,  with  a  fairer  meaning  meets  my  gaze, 
Now,  with  a  dearer  value  claims   my  care. 

I  hoard  each  trifle  as  a  jewel  fine, 
As  if  such  outward  remnants  frail  and  cold 

Were  all  that  bound  my  being  unto  thine, 
Were  all  of  thee  that  I  could  know,  or  hold : 


PARTED.  55 

Were   all   of  thee  —  when   in   the   realms  unseen 
Of  spirit- dwelling  thou  art   monarch   yet; 

Leading  me  upward   to   the   heights   serene 
Above  the   storms   of  passion   and   regret. 

I   would  not   call   thee  back  by  thought  or  sign 
To  chase   the  shadow   from  my  darkened  sphere ; 

I   will   not  pause   to   question   or   repine, 
Since  thou  art  with   me,  though   thou  art  not  here. 

I   stay,  content  to   walk  with  unclasped  hand. 
No   breath  of  spoken   words  to   comfort  me, 

Keeping   through  untold   years  in   distant    land 
This   fond  and  faithful  watch  and  ward  for  thee  ; 

The  while   I  dream,  though  each  from  each  in  place 
May   be  divided    far  as   pole   from   pole, 

That   no  device   of  time,  nor  length   of  space 
Can  sever  us  in  truth,   part  soul   from   soul. 


ENDYMION. 

ON  Latmos'  heights,  one   fair  midsummer  eve, 
The  beauteous  shepherd   boy  in  slumber  lay, 
While  round  about  him  in  the  shadowy  glades, 
Went  all  his  flocks  astray. 

The  gleaming  stars  in  azure  spaces  blent, 

The  sheen  and  fragrance  of  the  dew-wet  flowers, 
The  distant  fountain's  fall,  the  breeze's  sigh, 
Tuned   the   delicious  hours. 

Diana  strolling  through  her  sylvan   haunts, 

With  buskined  feet  that  lightly  pressed  the  ground, 
Thus  found  him   sleeping,  seemingly  with  more 
Than  mortal  radiance  crowned. 


ENDYMION. 

Those  who  had  sought  her,  suitors  to  her  charms, 

She  held  in  scorn,  their  homage  to  repel; 
Invaders  of  her  sacred  walks  had  known 
Her  vengeance  swift  and  fell. 

She  sat  enthroned  in  silvery  state  afar, 

Or  trod  the  earth  majestic  and  serene, 
Unmoved  by  passion's  ecstasy  or  pain, 
Of  life  and  self  the  queen. 

But  now  she  paused,  rapt  in  a  new  delight, 

And  as  she  softly  bent  his  form  above, 
Through  her  cold,  vestal  bosom  sudden  thrilled 
The  sweet  surprise  of  love. 

And  while  he  lay  entranced  beneath  her  gaze, 

Dreaming,  unconscious  of  impending  bliss, 
The  goddess   stooped,    and  breathed   upon  his   lips 
A  chaste,  immortal  kiss. 


SILENCE  WITH  A   FRIEND. 

OUT  of  the   tumult  of  the  crowded   street, 
Far  from  the  haunts  where  busy  Traffic  dwells, 
Where   Travel  hastens  with   unresting   feet, 
And   Fashion   weaves  her   many-colored   spells ;  — 
Let   us  to   fields   and   woodland   walks   repair, 
Where  grassy   banks   and   overarching   trees 
Invite   to   fulness   of   repose,    and  there 
Together   let   us  court  Harpocrates. 

His   "Hush  !  "   is  sweeter  to  the  weary  sense 
Than  scholar's   speech,  or  singer's  bravest   song, 
Or  any   utterance  that  art  invents 
To  brighten  and  beguile   the  hours   along ;  — 


SILENCE  WITH  A   FRIEND.  59 

And   resting  in  his   easeful   atmosphere, 
The   soul   shall   miss   awhile  its  burdening  care, 
And   skyward  soar,   renewing  hope   and    cheer, 
With  strength  once    more    the  world's  wild     clash 
to  bear. 


EVERLASTING. 

DO  I  walk  in  the  mist  of  dreams? 
Or  is  this   the   world  that   I   knew, 
With  its   fields   of  emerald  sheen, 
And    skies   of   rapturous   blue ; 
Its  rivulets   dancing   in   light, 
And  gardens  where  odors   prevail, 
Blending  with  music  of  birds 
Afloat   on   the  tremulous  gale? 

I  search,   but   nothing  remains 
Of  those  fair  and  wonderful  hours, 
Only  the  whiteness   and   strength 
Of  the  pale  everlasting  flowers  ; 


EVERLASTING.  6l 

Sighing  for  days  that  are  gone, 
My  grateful  harvest   I  take  ; 
Smiling  for  days  that  shall    come, 
My  hopeful  garlands  I  make. 

And  what  is  left  thee,   O  life  ! 
When  spring  with  its  promise  has  fled, 
When  summer's  beauty  and  bloom 
With  dust  and  ashes  are  spread, 
But  to  gather  immortal  flowers, 
Outlasting  death  and   decay, 
And  deep  in  thy  heart  of  hearts 
Embalm  their  sweetness  away? 


COMMON  THINGS. 

GIVE  me  the  common  things  of  life, 
The  good   and   ill  of  common  fates, 
The  tranquil  middle  ground    that   lies 
Between   the   high   and  low  estates. 

The  victories   of  place  and   power 

Their  laurels   for   the   brow  may  bind, 

While   in   the   strife   the   heart   is   left 
To   wander  lonely,  dumb   and  blind. 

Who  knows   the  wondrous  century-flower 
To   find   it   precious?  call   it   sweet? 

But   dear  we  hold  the  lowly  grass 
Softening  the  earth   beneath   our   feet. 


COMMON   THINGS.  63 

The  eagle   fronting   from   his  cliff 

The   sun   and  storm  with  dauntless  eye, 

Owns   not   the   gift   of  joy  bestowed 
By  tiniest  warbler  of  the  sky. 

The   smallest   orb    that  nightly  keeps 
From  age  to   age   its   steadfast  post, 

And   only   serves    to    faintly  swell 
The   brightness   of  the  starry  host ; 

With   happier  meaning   lives    and    shines, 

Than    any  meteor   of   a  day 
That   flashes    through   the    fields    of  heaven 

With   trail   of   splendor  and   dismay. 

These   are   life's  best,    the   cheery  help 

That   daily  crosses   can   beguile, 
The    sunshine  spirit,    glad    and    strong, 

Dispelling  shadows  with   a   smile; 


64  COMMON  THINGS. 

The  truth   and  faith,  that   build  a  fane 
Outlasting   fame  and   princely  dome, 

That  light   and   keep   in   sacred  charge 
The   altar-flame   of  love  and   home. 


YOUTH. 

HE  hastens  from  the  mother's  side, 
He  leaves  the  friendly  home  behind, 
And  restless  wanders  far  and   wide 
Another  world  to  find:— 

A  world  that  dawns  upon  his  sight 
In  dim,  enchanted  distance  set, 

Gleaming  with  visions  of  delight, 
And  all  unconquered  yet. 

The  Past  may  cry  with  scornful  power  — 
"But  life  is  old,  and  false  and  stale, 

Man  is  the  plaything  of  an  hour, 
His  strength  of  no  avail ; "  — 


66  YOUTH. 

He  hears  the  Future's  siren  voice 
Chanting  a  weird,  melodious  call, 

And  heart  and  sense  a-flame  rejoice, 
Responsive  to  its  thrall. 

He  climbs  with  onward  purpose  bent, 
Above  the  wrecks  of  Yesterday, 

As  if  through  all  the  ages  spent 
No  foot  had  trod  that  way. 

For  fruitless  hope  and  wasted  will 
Must  not  predestinate  his  doom  ; 
Though  countless  buds  have  blighted,  still 
•     For  him   the   flower   may  bloom. 

O  blessed   ardor  !  by  whose  worth 
Fresh,    untried    spirits   dare   and   do, 

And  keep   this   sad  and   toil-worn    earth 
Forever   bright   and   new. 


GATHERING  TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 

IN  April,   when  the   days  were   bright, 
And  growing  longer  in  their   scope, 
When   buds   were   shaking  off  their   sleep, 
And  all   the   airs  were  full  of  hope ; 

We   walked   together,   you   and   I, 

In   mood   that   sometimes  pensive   grew ; 

For  memories  of  a   gladness    passed 
Eclipsed   the   present   to   our  view. 

By  crooked   foot-paths    faintly  traced, 
Our   way   along   the   fields   we    took ; 

Climbed   broken    fence  and   loosened    wall, 
And   crossed    the    shallow,    gliding  brook. 


68  GATHERING   TRAILING   ARBUTUS. 

We   reached  the   hills,   beneath   whose   base 
The  river  flows  with  ceaseless   sound, 

And,    knowing  the  enchanted   spot, 
Knelt   with   our  faces   to   the  ground. 

For  those   who  come  with  lofty  tread, 
And   careless,  undiscerning  eyes, 

May  often  go  with   empty  hands, 

Nor  find   this  treasure  where   it   lies. 

We  brushed   the   withered  leaves   away, 
Old  remnants  of  a  worn-out  year, 

And   shouted   with   ecstatic  glee, 
"The  flower  is  here!  the   flower  is   here!" 

When   crowned  with   spoils  we  homeward  went, 
Our  thoughts   assumed   a  gayer  hue; 

Beneath   the  magic   touch   of  spring 
Belief  and  courage  bloomed  anew. 


GATHERING   TRAILING   ARBUTUS.  69 

Among  all   blossoms  of  the   fields, 

Say,  where  shall  I  another  find, 
Whose   sweetness  thus   the  senses   charms, 

Whose   energies   content  the  mind  ? 

The  year's  brave   messenger,  that  tells 

Of  present  good,  and  good  to  be ; 
Whose  brief  companionship  excites 

The   brave   desire  in   you   and   me ; 

That  we   might  cast   old  habits   off 

To   let   a  nobler  growth   appear; 
And  greet  all  seasons  with  the  thought, 

"  The  flower  is  here !  the  flower  is  here." 


UNDINE. 

SAD  is   her  fate,  whose  soul   to  growth   attains 
Beneath   the  silent   burden  of  love's   cross; 
Whose  immortalities  unlearned  of  joy, 

Spring  from   the   ground    of  suffering  and    loss 

But  sadder   far   must   be   the  fate   of  her, 

Who  neither   knows   love's   anguish    nor   delight ; 

Whose  soul   unresting   keeps   its   aimless  way, 
Circling  its   lonely  self  in   songless   flight. 

Bethesda   for  its   living  virtue   waits, 

Unconscious  of  the  blessed   power  and   sign, 

Till  the  love-angel    from   the    heights   descends, 
And   troubles   it   with   bliss  and   pain   divine. 


W 


A  BUTTERFLY  IN   AUTUMN. 

IHY  dost   thou  linger  drooping  and  alone, 
When  from  the  tield    and    grove    thy  mates    have 

flown, 

And  summer's  latest  bloom 
Fades  from  her  shrines  o'erthrown? 


The  foliage  far  and  near  its  death-stain  wears, 
The  starling's  scarlet  wing  fans  other  airs, 
The  bee  is  housed  away 
With    all  his    honeyed    cares. 

Alas  for  thee,  when  winter  draweth  nigh  ! 
When    chilling   winds   are    speeding    roughly    by, 

And  twilight's  shivering  star 

So  soon  usurps  the  sky. 


72  A   BUTTERFLY  IN    AUTUMN. 

Those  were  thy  days,  the  days   of  burning  heart, 
That  waked  the  early  dawn  in  haste  to  start, 

And  loitered  on  the  hills 

Reluctant  to  depart. 

Then,  thou  didst  gayly  flutter  to  and  fro, 
The  lily  fed  thee  from  her  cup  of  snow, 

The  rose  on  thee  would  wait 

Her  sweetness  to  bestow. 

Sailing  above  the  meadows  daisy-strown, 
Or,  in  the  fervid  noontide  languid  grown, 
Rocking  on  thistle-beds 
By  zephyrs  glad  o'erblown  ;  — 

Pursuing  all  things  beautiful  and  bright  — 
That   was    thy   morning   hour   of  joy   and    light; 
Now  thou  art  left  to  know 
The  meaning   of    the    night. 


A  BUTTERFLY   IN   AUTUMN.  73 

And  for  such  knowledge,  by  such  teaching  brought, 
I  give  thy  fate  this  one  memorial  thought ; 

For  pain  hath  rarer  tones 

Than  pleasure  ever  caught. 

And  while  the  earthly  destinies  go  by 
And  fail  life's  latent  longing  to  supply, 

Glad  welcome  pays  to  death 

Its   need  to   satisfy. 


THE    SAXIFRAGE. 

ON  the  hill-side  bleak   and   barren, 
Where   the   northern   gales   are    blowing 
Where  the   rugged   soil  is  granting 
Scanty  liberty  for  growing : 

There   the    saxifrage  is  springing, 
All  its  blossoms   grouped    together, 

Braving  in    fraternal  union 

Every  stress   of  wind   and  weather. 

Clinging  to   its   isolation, 

Nursling  of  the  rock  and   shadow, 
Heedless  of   the   flowery   revel 

In    the   green    and    sunny  meadow. 


THE  SAXIFRAGE.  7  5 

Brighter  bloom   and   rarer   fragrance 
Thoughtful  souls  would  oft   surrender, 

For  the  fairer  meanings  breathing 

Round  its  presence  strong  and   tender. 

Spirit, 'through  all  Nature  teaching, 

In  this  simple  guise  is   showing, 
That  where'er  a  life  is  planted; 

Still  there's  room  enough  for  growing. 


THE   LOVER'S  QUESTION. 

THE  morning  dew-drop  the  sunbeam  greets, 
In  tremulous  flush  of  surprise  and  glee, 
Picturing  worlds  in  its  newness  of  light ; 

Say,  dearest,  thus  would  you  brighten  for  me? 
And  reveal  life  to  me? 

The  vine  forsakes  the  immovable   rock, 

To  climb  and  cling  to  the  wind-swept  tree, 

Lavishing  endless  enchantment  and  bloom  ; 
Say,  dearest,  thus  would  you  cling  to  me? 
And  thus  bloom  for  me? 

The  rivulet  hastes  on  its  shining  track, 

To  blend  with  the  stream  and  flow  on  to  the  sea, 


THE  LOVER'S   QUESTION.  77 

Ever  a  fuller  accordance  to  chime; 

Say,  dearest,  thus  would  you  hasten  to  me? 
And  accord  with  me? 

And  if  Heaven  should  claim  you  beyond  recall, 

Proffering  state  in  diviner  degree, 
Would  you  turn  from  the  angels  unsatisfied  ? 

Say,  dearest,  still  would  you  dream  of  me? 
And  still  wait  for  me? 


THE  BROOK. 

OVER  the  hills  where  the  grassy  uplands 
Slope  and  reach  to  the  greenwood's  edge, 
I  know  where  a  slender  brook  comes  stealing 
Down  the  rugged  ways  of  a  rocky  ledge ; 

And  hastens  onward  through  verdant  hollows, 
And  sun-browned  pastures  where  cattle  graze, 

Till,  under  the  tangle  of  distant  thickets 
It  hides  away  from  my  curious  gaze. 

But,  whether  among  the  rough  rocks  groping, 
In  narrow  channels  too  rudely  bent, 

Trampled  by  flocks  in  the  thirsty  noontide, 
To  lowliest  service  its  being  lent ; 


THE   BROOK.  79 

Or,  smoothly  gliding  through  silvery  shallows, 
Where  blossoms  are  bending  its  waves  to  meet, 

Where  birds  are  flitting,  and  insects  humming, 
And  time  is  moving  to  measures  sweet; 

This  truth  it  finds,  that  from    overcoming 

Springs  stronger  impulse,  and  deepening  flow, 

And  tuneful  spirits  of  joy  and  blessing 
To  follow  its  waters  wherever  they  go. 

O  wisest  of  streamlets!  that  thus  is  showing 
Such  uses  and  beauty  from  good  and  ill ; 

All  changes  of  life  into  music  turning, 
One  purpose  of  gladness  pursuing  still. 


GOING  EARLY. 

LET  me  depart  while  all  around  are  praying 
Their  warm   petitions  for  my  farther  staying 
While  yet  affe.ction  keeps  its  smile  of  beauty, 
Nor  yields  its  ministries  to  slow-paced  duty. 

Life  were  no  jewel  but  for  love's  fond  setting, 
Death  were  not  cruel  with  love's    fond   regretting ; 
I  would  not  linger  till  its  lights  are  shaded, 
And  all  the  freshness  of  its  colors  faded. 

I  would  go  early,  while  the  gladsome  summer 
Bright  welcome  gives  to  every  flowery  comer ; 
Ere    winter  reigns  with  sad-eyed  melancholy, 
Crushing  the  voses  'neath  his  thorn-edged  holly. 


GOING  EARLY.  Si 

While  yet  all  fruits  are  sweetest  to  the   tasting, 
And  youthful  hopes  have  known  no  bitter  wasting, 
And  pleasure's  sparkling  cup  stands  overflowing, 
With  untired  feet  I  hasten  to  my  going. 

Earth  thou  art  fair,  with  joys  forever  flying, 
Heaven  thou  art  fairer,  with  thy  joys  undying, 
The  flickering  star  of  morning  I  surrender, 
To  bask  in  noontide  of  eternal  splendor. 


ATALANTA. 

MYTHIC  maiden,  fleet  and  free, 
Stay  not  in  thy  beauteous  flight, 
While  thy  glances  backward  cast 
Ever  to  pursuit  invite. 

Thou  dost  wear  enchantment's  form 

To  expectant  heart  and  eye, 
Hasten,  lest  thy  charm  be  lost 

When  thy  wooers  gather  nigh. 

Keep  thy  courage,  lover  true, 
Wait  not  in  the  eager  chase, 

Seek  with  fond,  unwearied  strength 
Gift  and  spell  to  tempt  her  grace. 


ATLANTA.  83 

Bring  from  far  Hesperian  lands 

Golden  fruit  to  strow  her  way; 
What  though  dragons  guard  it  well  ? 

Love  hath  braver  arts  than  they. 

If  attainment  came  with  ease, 
Could  the  life  from  passion  rest, 

If  its  need  demanded  not 
Mortal  and  immortal   quest; 

What  were  left?  alas,  to  know 
When  the  best  is  told    and   done, 

That  pursuit  affords   delights 
Keener  than  its  objects  won. 


EACH  IN  ITS  SPHERE. 


I  choose,"  dreamed  the  rose,   "like  the  bird 
I  would  warble, 
And  sit  on   the   tree-top,    and  breezily   swing  ; 
On  swift  wings   I'd  fly  from  all   bleak  wind  and  weather 
And  follow  forever  the  joy  of  the   spring." 

"  How  fair,"   sung  the  bird,   "  like  the   rose  in   the  garden 
To  blossom   in  beauty  the  bright  summer  through, 

Unconsciously  stealing  at   noontide  and  twilight 
The   secret  of  sweetness   from   sunbeam   and  dew." 

Cried  the  child,  "  Oh  !  'twere  royal    to  shine  like  the  planet, 
Illumining  worlds   with  my   far-glancing   rays, 

While  tempest  and   conflict  rolled   onward  beneath  me, 
And  ages  revolved  with   their  numberless   clays." 


EACH    IN    ITS    SPHERE.  85 

While    breathes   a  response  from  the  deep  heart  of 
Nature, 

The    mother  that  careth  for  one  and  for  all, 
"Each   life  is   my   own,    that  I    bear   in    my  bosom, 

The    stronger   and   weaker,    the   great   and    the   small. 

In    lowliest    duty,    in    highest   expression, 

In  music   and    fragrance,    in   light   and  in    word, 

Each  one   in   its   sphere   is   my   purpose    fulfilling, 
The  child   and   the  planet,   the  blossom   and   bird." 


HER  CHOICE. 

NAUGHT  are  houses  and  lands  to  me, 
Empty  are  titles  of  highest  degree. 
False  are  all  gifts  of  the  earth  below. 
If  unmated  my  heart  must  go." 

Thus  she  declared,  the  wilful  young  maid, 
In  the  flush  of  her  joy  and  beauty  arrayed, 
And  laughed  and  sung  in  her  spring-time  sweet 
While  the  pearls  of  fortune  fell  round  her  feet. 

Till  Love,  her  master,  and  sworn  ally, 
Sought  her  intent  her  allegiance  to  try, 
And  bravely  loyal  she  gave  her  hand 
To   one   undowered   with  gold    or   land. 


HER   CHOICE.  87 

Then  with  arms   unjewelled,    and   hair  uncurled, 
Out  of  the  sight  of  the  envious    world, 
Laughing  at   poverty's   stings   she  went 
The  path   she  had   chosen    with    still   content. 

And  through  weal   and  woe,  in  Love's  strength  and 

truth 

She  sung  the   song  of  her  beautiful   youth, 
"  False  are   all  gifts  of  the  earth  below, 
If  unmated  the   heart   must  go." 


"WE  HAVE  NEED  OF  ALL  THESE   THINGS.' 

HOW  time  each  trial  justifies, 
And  final  compensation  brings, 
In  teaching  our  reluctant  hearts 
That — "We  have  need  of  all  these  things." 

Though  sad  regrets  pursue  our  ways, 

And  secret  grief  the  spirit  wrings, 
We  weep  and  wait,   to   find  at  length 

That  —  "We  have  need  of  all  these  things." 

Beneath  our  daily  cares   depressed 

We  scarce  can  lift  our  earth-bound  wings  ; 

Yet  may  not  lay  our  burden  off, 

For  —  "We  have  need  of  all  these  things." 


"WE    HAVE   NEED   OF   ALL   THESE   THINGS."  89 

Though  seemingly  our  bitterest   fruit 

Most  closely  to  the  branches  clings; 
Some  sweet  the  harvest  must  afford, 

Since  — "We  have  need  of  all  these  things.  " 

Each  draught  of  pain  that  seeks  our  lips, 

Flows  upward  from  eternal  springs, 
With  strengthening  power,  when   we  can  trust 

That  — "We  have  need  of  all  these  things." 

And  when  belief  o'errules  the  will, 

The  angel  in  us  stirs,  and  sings, 
"  Come  victory  or  defeat,  'tis  well ! 

For    we  have  need  of  all  these  things." 


WHEN  I  AM  GONE. 

OH  !  to  think  when   1  am  gone, 
All  life's  movements  must  go  on, 
In  their  order  and  degree, 
Making  no  delay  for  me. 

Time  will  heal  the  wound  I  make, 
Friends  another  friend  will  take, 
Love  that  sought  my  answer  once, 
Otherwhere  will  seek  response. 

Springs  will  open  as  of  old, 
Leaf  and  blossom  will  unfold, 
And  the  thrushes  warble  clear, 
When  I  long  have  ceased  to  hear. 


WHEN    I    AM    GONE.  91 

If  I'm  present  'neath  these  skies, 
Clinging  fast  to  human  ties, 
Or  am  absent  and  forgot, 
Cruel  Nature  careth  not. 


Shall  I  take   departure   fraught 
With  this  cold,   accusing   thought  ? 
Shall  I   go   unreconciled, 
When  the  mother  calls  her   child? 

I  have  found  her  gifts  too  sweet 
Now  to  count  them  incomplete ; 
To  her  law  I  bend  my  will, 
Every  service  to  fulfil. 

She  will  take  me  to  her  heart, 
Make  me  of  herself  a  part, 
Blend  me  with  her  growths  and  airs 
While  my  being  onward  fares. 


WHEN    I    AM    GONE. 

Somewhere   in  the   life-domain 
I   shall   feel   and  think  again, 
And   more   clearly  learn  and   prove 
Forms   of  beauty,  truth   and  love. 

Wherefore   then   should    I   repine 
Lower   senses   to   resign, 
For   a   nobler   range   of  powers? 
Earthly  weeds  for  Heavenly  flowers  ? 

Place  and  use  last  with  the  soul 
Under  Infinite  control ; 
On  this  thought  my  weakness  leans, 
Trusting  for  the  ways  and   means. 


THE  SEEKER. 

"  T  will  not  stay  to  gather  these 
JL     Poor  blossoms  of  the  passing  hour, 

On  yonder  starry  heights  afar 
I  seek  a  peerless  flower." 

• 

He  breathes  the  breath  of  loftier  airs, 

His  footstep  spurns  the  level  plain, 
While  Nature's  everyday  delights 
Around  him  tempt  in  vain. 

« 
The  clarion-call  within  his  breast, 

With  pealing  echoes  loud  and  long 
Drowns  the  sweet  murmur  of  the  brooks, 
The  wild  birds'  morning  song. 


94  THE    SEEKER. 

He  rests  not  from  the  fervid  noon 
In  cooling  screen  of  tree  or  rock ;  — 

The  nectared  fruits  beside  the  way 
His  hunger  only  mock. 

The  tempests  beat  upon  his  head, 
His  path  o'er  gulf  and  torrent  lies, 

The  blossoms  fade,  the  verdure  fails, 
Chilled  by  the  glacial  skies. 

? 
The  day  declines  along  the  slopes 

With  warning  shade  against  his  cheek ;- 
The  race  is  won,  he  stands  alone 
Upon   an  ice-clad    peak. 

Alone  beneath  the  alien  stars 
Enthroned  in  crystal  state  apart ; 

Alas  !  what  life  is  here  to  fill 
The  voidness  of  a  heart? 


THE   SEEKER.  95 

Now,  softly  o'er  his  senses  steal 

The  memories  of  his  native  grove, 
Where  Beauty  slept,  and  only  lacked 

The  wakening  touch  of  love. 

O  blissful  world  so  far  away, 

All  rainbow-spanned  in  sun  and  shower! 
O  fields  elysian!  where  unsought 

There  grew  the  peerless  flower. 

And  dreaming  still,  with  backward  gaze 
Fixed  on  the  long-lost  vales  below, 

The  worn-out  seeker  sinks  to  sleep 
Upon  the  eternal  snow. 


DOUBT. 

'T^HE  wind  blows  gayly  from  the  South 

-i-      To  kiss  the  rose's  fresh  young  mouth, 
And  nestle  in  her  glowing  heart ; 
But  when  the  first  bright  tints  are  gone 
He  strips  the  petals  one  by  one, 
Disdainful,  eager  to  depart. 

Art  thou  thus,   Love?  dost  thou  but  care 
For  dimpled  cheek  and  golden  hair, 
The  darlings  of  the  morning  hours? 
And  when  the  days  are  sad  with  change. 
And  colors  pale,  wilt  thou  grow  strange, 
Forgetful  of  life's  faded  flowers? 


DOUBT.  97 


I  give  my  soul  to  doubts,  and  fears 
Of  wasted  faith  and   lonely  years  ;  — 
And  then,  and  then,  beneath  thy  smile, 
In  sweet  content  that  questions  not 
I  turn  and  take   thy  proffered    lot, 
If  only  for  a  little  while. 


AUTUMN  SONG. 

A  SPIRIT  hovers  in  the  air, 
Foreshadowing  changes  everywhere ; 
Whispers  of  coming  loss  and  blight, 
And  sings  in  varied  minor  keys 
Of  beauty  passing  out  of  sight. 


The  rose  so  lately  fine  and  red, 
Her  petals  to  the  winds  has   shed, 
And  rustles  by  the  thicket's  side 
In  withered  foliage  forlorn, 
Too  scant  her  faded  boughs  to  hide. 


AUTUMN   SONG.  99 

The  brook  that  laughed,  and  ran  away 
So  fast  and  far,  from  day  to  day, 
In  haste  the  little  lake  to  fill 
That  waits  a  constant  fresh  supply 
Shut  in  the  hollows  green  and  still; 


Now  loiters,  choked  and  tangled  so 
It  scarce  can  see  which  path  to  go, 
And  over  every  hindering  stone 
Repeats  its  plaintive  roundelay 
Of  happier  hours,  and  pleasures   flown. 


The  velvet-coated  bee  that  fiew 

From  bloom  to  bloom,  and  deftly  drew 

From  each  its  tiny  drop  of  sweet 

To  furnish  full  his  distant  hive, 

Now  rests  unseen,  his  work  complete. 


IO°  AUTUMN   SONG. 

A  painter  'neath  the  trees  has  strolled, 

And  brushed  their  leaves  with  red  and  gold, 

And  loosened  them  in  glowing  maze 

To  flutter  down  the  wilful  gale 

And  carpet  thick  the  woodland  ways. 


With  dreamful  sense  the  morning  wakes, 
And  veiled  in  haze  the  sky-road  takes, 
While  through  the  night-time  long  and  lone 
The  sleepless  cricket  keeps  the  watch, 
With  shrill,  unceasing  monotone. 


Ah!  for  the  spirit  in  the  air 
Foreshadowing  changes  everywhere; 
Whispering  of  coming  loss  and   blight, 
Singing  in  varied  minor  keys 
Of  beauty  passing  out  of  sight. 


BESIDE  A   GRAVE. 

IS  this  cold  chamber  of  common  earth 
All  that  we  gain  from  the  earthly  years  ? 
Is  this  the  end  of  all  beauty  and  worth? 
Of  all  that  life  sought  amid  raptures  and  tears  ? 

Ah!  never  a  grave  that  the  mortal  can  make 

With  art's  highest  grandeur  encompassed  around, 

Which  the  winds  of  time  shall  crumble  and  shake, 
Such  values  can  hold  in  its  piteous  bound. 

There  must  be  a  land  for  the  souls  of  men, 
Old  as  their  need,  yet  immortally  new, 

Where  the  flower  of  their  being  shall  blossom  again, 
Fed  with  eternal  sunshine  and  dew. 


BESIDE   A  GRAVE. 

Where  bosomed  in  peace  shall  anguish  find  rest, 
Where  thought  in  the  light  shall  forever  ascend, 

Where  aspiration  may  gather  its  best, 

And  love  meet  lover,  and  friend  meet  friend. 

Yet,  bounteous  Nature,  be  true  to  thine  own; 

With  gladness  of  green  spread  thy  children's  low  bed; 
Let  roses  and  lilies  be  over  them  strewn, 

And  sweet  airy  anthems  above  them  be  said. 

Take  the  dust,  but  no  more  of  the  creature  is  thine ; 

With  vision  uplifted  I  follow  afar 
My  treasure  and  hope  to  a  country  divine, 

Beyond  the  blue  ether,  beyond  the  last  star. 


THE  MOTHER'S  CHILD. 

JUST  six  months  old,  and  so  unlearned, 
So   innocent  in  worldly  ways, 
That  any  lamb  or  kitten  more 
Sagacity  displays. 

But  who  complains  because  the  bud 
Is  not   the   perfect  flower,    full-grown? 

I    find  my  joy  in    this  delay 
That   keeps    him  all   my   own. 

If  he   could  talk,  some  angry  word 

Might  fret  and  grieve  me  every  day; 
Now,    his  sweet  silence  when   I   speak 
Consents   to   all    I    say. 


104  THE  MOTHER'S  CHILD 

If  he   could  walk,  some   wild   desire 

Might  lead  his  footsteps  far  from  me ; 
Now,  what  are  heights  and  powers  to  him? 
His  throne  is  on  my  knee. 

Alas !  how  soon  my  king  will  haste 
To  abdicate   the  crown   he   wears, 
And  pluck  the  fruits  of  bitter  taste 
The   tree   of  knowledge   bears. 

Howe'er  my  prescient  gaze  surveys 

The  Future's  dim,  mysterious  land, 
I  see  him   borne  away  from  me 
By  time's  resistless   hand. 

Pursuing  his  unresting  course 

I  see  him  merged  in  school-boy  life, 
.     With  forehead  bruised,   and  jacket  torn, 
The  marks  of  pain  and  strife. 


THE  MOTHER'S  CHILD.  105 

And  younger,  brighter  eyes  than    mine 

Will  steal  his  manly  heart  away, 

And  care  and  age  will  seek  him  out, 

And  make  him  sad  and  gray. 

How  gladly  from  such  views  I  turn, 

On  nearer  ones  to  fix  my  glance, 
Rejoicing  in  his  present  state 
Of  happy  ignorance. 

So,  Baby!  come  and  fill  my  arms, 

And  charm  me  with  your  mute   replies  ; 
Be  wholly  mine  to-day,  for  soon 
You'll  be  too  old  and  wise. 


RECOGNITION. 

WHEN  I  have  left  thee  for  long,  weary  days, 
That  lengthened  into  wearier  months  and  years, 
Have  I  not  found  thee  in  thy  wonted  ways, 
With  all  thy  tones  and  gestures,  smiles  and  tears  ? 

Even  so  our  instincts  in  their  human  bound 
Can  keep  love's  image  fadeless  and  complete, 

Through  every  chance  and  change  of  earthly  round, 
And  conquer  time  with  recognition  sweet. 

And   if  I  first,  with  voice  and  vision  flown, 

Should  slip  beyond  your  reach  through  death's  white  gate, 

To  track  companionless  the  vast  unknown. 
Leaving  thee  here  to  follow  soon  or  late; 


RECOGNITION.  IO7 

Then,  led  and  taught  by  sequence  infinite 

In  Heavenly  knowledge,  such  as  angels  share, 

When  thou  shouldst  come,   I  will  not  doubt  the  light 
O  my  beloved !  to  meet  and  know  thee  there. 


APPLES. 

EVERYWHERE  in  northern  lands 
Where  an  equal  law  commands, 
Tempering  the  suns  and  snows; 
True  and  constant  in  its  mood, 
Planned  in  Nature's  rectitude, 
There  and  thus,  the  apple  grows. 

When  the  genial  skies  of  May 
Warmer  beam  from  day  to  day, 
Then  awakes  the  parent-tree; 
Crowns  itself  with  bud  and  bloom, 
Rich   with  color  and  perfume, 
Haunted  oft  by  bird  and  bee. 


APPLES.  IO9 

Soon  the  winds  with  blast   of  fate 
Rend  away  the  robe  of  state, 
Crush  the  glorious  diadem ; 
But  this  beauty  used  and  passed 
Leaves  the  germs  of  fruitage  fast 
Clinging  to  the  faithful  stem. 

Summer  with  benignant  power 
Grants  propitious  sun  and   shower, 
Gives  each  heart  its  essence  due, 
Paints  each  slowly  rounding  cheek 
Fair  with  many  a  stain  and   streak, 
Thus  perfecting  form  and  hue. 

Vagrant  cattle  as  they  pass 
Search  amid  the  tangled  grass 
For  the  apples  ripe  and  red  ; 
School-boys  with  discerning  eye 
Seek  the  rosiest,  hanging  high 
In  ihe  branches  overhead. 


1 10  APPLES. 


Busy  hands  with  grateful  care 
From  the  fields  and  orchards  bear 
Autumn's  plenteous,  golden   store  ; 
Stripped  by  winds  in  reckless  glee, 
Soon  the  patient  parent-tree 
Stands  all  bare  and  brown  once  more. 

But  when  wintry  stars  gleam  bright, 

And  the  house  fires  are  a-light, 

Then  its  fruits  again  appear ; 

As  a  benediction  shed 

By  the  spring  and  summer  fled, 

Bringing  back  their  hope  and  cheer. 


TELL  ME. 

TELL  me  how  the  blue-bird  sings. 
Balanced  high  on   yonder  tree, 
Flinging  to  the  hungry  winds 
All  his  grief  or  ecstasy? 

Tell  me   how  the  cherries  grow, 
Nodding  by  the  window-pane, 

Gathering  from   clay   and   night 
Nectared  juice  and   crimson  stain? 

Tell  me  how  the  tints  are  caught 
In  the  bosom  of  the  shell? 

Tell  me  what  the  perfume  means 
Breathing  from  the  lily-bell? 


TELL   ME. 

Tell   me  how   the   sunbeam   shines? 

How   the  crystal   form   is  wrought  ? 
How  electric   currents   move? 

Tell  how   thought   responds   to   thought  ? 

Who  shall   tell   me  what   I   ask? 

Who   the   heights   and   depths   may   scan 
So   to  lift  the   veil  that   hides 

Nature's   primal  touch  from   man? 

Language  vainly   seeks  to   reach 

This  celestial   range   of  arts ; 
"Tell   me!"    is  the   ceaseless   cry 

Rising  from  unanswered  hearts. 


THE   PRESENT  HEAVEN. 

OUR   seasons  pass  with   half  their  harvests  wasted, 
O'ergrown  with   doubts   and   fears ; 
With   their  most   sacred   hopes   imreached,   untasted, 
Delayed  beyond   the  years. 

Not  thus   should  our  ideals  wait  fruition         * 

Till  sphered   with   seraphim  ; 
Since,   men   or   angels,   in  whate'er  condition, 

We   may   abide   with   Him. 

We   dwell  on   high,   when  victors  in  believing 

Our   wills   to    His   resign, 
When   we  still   trust   through   giving   and   bereaving, 

A    Law,  a    Love    Divine. 


IJ4  THE  PRESENT  HEAVEN. 

Along  the   dusty   paths   of   earth  up-stealing, 

Are   Heavenly  blossoms   found 
By  all   the  searchers   of  His   ways,  revealing 

This   too   as  holy  ground. 

Oh !  not  alone   in   worlds   of  future  knowing 

The   Infinite   is   won ; 
The   present   moment   fitly   spent   is   showing 

Eternal  joys   begun. 


A  WINTER   VIEW. 

A  cold  gray  sky  hangs  overhead, 
The  woods  and  fields  a  shadow  wear, 
No  moods  of  passion  or  delight 
Stir  the  still  pulses  of  the   air. 

Gone  is  the  fair  disguise  that  held 

The  mystery  of  form   concealed, 
And  every  sculptured  line  and  curve 

In  true  proportion  lies  revealed. 

So  while  external   splendors  fade, 

To-day  another  glory   knows, 
The  glory   of  consummate  strength 

In   pure   completeness   of  repose. 


Il6  A   WINTER    VIEW. 

No  blithesome  tales   are  uttered  now 
To   blithesome  listeners   far   and  near, 

But  gracious   memories  softly   rise 
And   fill  with   peace  the  patient   year. 

In   each   expressive   shape   I   trace 
Its   leaning  on  a  latent   power, 

Its  waiting  with  untiring  hope 
The   dawning   of  a  triumph  hour. 

The  stately  trees  accepting  fate, 
And   standing  in   their  pride   alone, 

The   ice-locked   brook,  the  lowly   brier 
Clasping  its   arms  about   a  stone  ; 

Whisper  of  Nature's  boundless   love, 

That  underlying  all  her  art 
Now   pours   her  raptures   on   the   winds, 

Now  hoards  them  in  her   mighty   heart, 


A   WINTER   VIEW.  117 

For  rest   and   motion,    light   and   dark, 

In   equal  joy  to  her  belong, 
And   all  the   uses   of  the   hours 

Accord  in   her  eternal  song. 

Then  what  are  cold  and  clouded  skies? 

The   limits  of  this  landscape  drear? 
To-day  contains  all  summers  past, 

The  drama  of  the  world  is  here. 


RENEWAL. 

OFAIR,  new  world  !  whose  germs  unfold 
From  the  dim  chaos  of  the  old ! 
I  watch  with  questioning  heart  and  eyes 
While  Nature   paints  afresh  the  skies, 
And  all  her   May-time   fancies  weaves 
O'er  last  year's   withered  grass   and  leaves. 

Waked  from   their  wintry  dream   of  death, 
Her   blossoms   blow  with  odorous   breath, 
Her  birds   forget   their  exile  long 
In  this   return  to   love  and   song, 
Her  sunshine   poured   upon   the   hills 
With  conscious  bliss  all   being   fills. 


RENEWAL.  "9 

O  earth!  could   I  win   back  like  you 
Spring,  with  its  carol,  flower  and  dew, 
And   'neath  their  beauty   hide   away 
The   dust   and  darkness   of   decay, 
The  sense  and   shadow  of  regret, 
And  in  the   new  the  old  forget! 

But    I   with   no  recall,    to   time 
Must  yield  my  spring,   my   summer's  prime  , 
The   heart's   rose  blooms   but   once,   ah,    me  ! 
The   ripened   fruit   drops   from  the   tree, 
The  frost  and   snow  above   them   fall, 
And   hold  them   fast   in   endless  thrall. 

Yet,    Nature  though   she   make  me  weep 
By   taking  what   I  fain  would   keep, 
Still,  whispers   sweetly   through    her  scorn, 
"  Rest   in   thy  part,  my  noblest   born, 
Thine  the  diviner  gift,  that  brings 
Renewal   in   eternal    springs." 


VERSES  FOR  CHILDREN. 


DRIVING  HOME  THE  COWS. 

LOW  in  the  sky  the  last  sunbeams  are  shining, 
Sprinkling-  their  gold  through  the  apple-tree  boughs 
Tie  up  your  shoes,  and  put  on  your  hat,  Bobby, 
And  we'll  go  together,  and  drive  home  the   cows. 


This  is  the  way,  through  the  lane,  by  the  orchard, 

Across  the  stone-bridge,  where  the  brook  waters  flow ; 

Then  we'll  let  down  the  bars,  and  leave  the  road  open, 
And  over  the  hills  to  the  pastures  below. 


I24  DRIVING    HOME   THE   COWS. 

Here  is  the  path  where  they  go   in  the  morning, 
Cropping   the  clover  and   fresh  dewy  grass ; 

Brushing  the  sweet-fern   and   bayberry   bushes 

That   shed   their  faint  perfume  on  all  things  that  pass. 

Yonder  they're  waiting,  at   rest  in  the  hollow, 

Under  the  walnut-trees  shady  and  tall; 
You  call  them,   Bobby,  while  I   pick  the  lilies, 

And  white   meadow-rue,   clustered  here  by  the  wall. 

Dolly  starts  quickly,   her  keen   mother-instinct 
Urging  her  home  her  young  bossy  to  meet ; 

While  Brindle  and   Buttercup,    Daisy  and  Jewel, 
Come  after  her,  pacing  with   tardier  feet. 

And  thus,   by  the  pathways  of  morning  returning, 
They  wind   round   the  hill-side  an   orderly  band, 

Past  orchard  and  brook,  till  they  reach  their  night-haven, 
Where  Bridget  awaits  them  with  milk-pail  in    hand. 


DRIVING   HOME  THE   COWS.  125 

Look  !  here  on  the  fence  is  the  nest  of  a  robin, 

And  see  where  she  comes  from   her  foraging  flight ! 

We'll  watch  while  she's  feeding  her  three  hungry  birdlings, 
And  tucking  them  under  her  wings  for  the  night. 

Now  homeward  we'll  haste,  as  the  twilight  grows  deeper, 
And  evening's  fair  star  glimmers  soft  in  the  west ; 

For  soon  little  boys  like  the  cows  and  the  robins, 
With  work  and  play  ended  must  go  to  their  rest. 


"WHAT  I  WOULD  DO." 

IF  I  were  a  bird,  I  would  warble  a  song 
The  sweetest  and  finest  that  ever  was  heard, 
And  build  me  a  nest  on  the  swinging-  elm-tree ; 
Oh,  that's  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  a  bird. 

If  I  were  a  flower,  I'd  hasten  to  bloom, 

And  make  myself  beautiful  all  the  day  through 

With  drinking  the  sunshine,  the  wind,  and  the  rain ; 
Oh,  if  I  were  a  flower  that's  what  I  would  do. 

If  I  were  a  brook,  I  would  sparkle  and  dance 

Among  the  green  fields  where  sheep  and  lambs  stray, 

And  call,  "  Little  lambkins,  come  hither,  and  drink  !  " 
Oh,  if  I  were  a  brook  that  is  what  I  would,  say. 


"WHAT   I   WOULD  DO."  127 

If  I  were  a  star,  I  would  shine  wide  and  bright 
To  guide  the  lone  sailors  on  oceans  afar, 

And  travelers  lost  in  the  deserts  and  woods  ; 
Oh,  that's  what  I'd  do  if  I  were   a  star. 

But  I  know  that  for  me  other  tasks  have  been  set. 
For  I  am  a  child,  and  can  nothing  else  be  ; 

I  must  sit  at  my  lessons,  and  day  after  day 
Learn  to  read  and  to  spell,  and  add  one,  two  and  three. 

Yet  perhaps,  by  my  books  I  shall  sometime  rind  out 
How  the  birds  sing  so  sweet,  how  the  roses  grow  red, 

What  the  merry  brook  says  to    the  moss-covered  stones, 
And  what  makes  the  stars  stay  so  high  overhead. 


SECOND  CHILDHOOD. 

POOR  old  Grandma,  full  of  ills 
That  her  ninety  years  have  wrought, 
Dull  of  hearing,  dim  of  sight, 

Slow  and  wandering  in  her  thought ; 

Sits  with   patient,  folded  hands 
.   In    her  ancient   chair   all  day, 
With  her   earthly   labors   done, 
Waiting  to  be  called   away. 

While   her  youngest  grandchild    Rose, 
Bright-eyed    maiden,  good    as    fair, 

Is   the    sunshine   of  her   life, 

Hovering   round  with    loving   care.   • 


SECOND  CHILDHOOD. 

Sweet  companionship   they  hold, 
Talking-  of  the  old,    old  time; 

For  the  grandarne's  heart   abides 
With   the   treasures   of  her   prime. 

Gorgeous   tiowers  may  bloom  To-day, 
But  a  charm   they  lack,    in   truth  ; 

Those   delight   her  most   that   grew 
In  the  gardens   of  her  Youth. 

So  the  little   daughter    brings 
Spicy  mints,  and  balm  and  sage, 

In   neglected   corners   found, 
Favorites   of  a  by-gone  age. 

Oft  the  grandame   pleased   and   sad, 
Strokes   her  head   with  tender   hand, 

Saying,    "  'Tis   my  time  to   go 
To   the    far-off,    better   land. 


129 


I3O  SECOND  CHILDHOOD. 

"  I  shall  leave  my  darling  here, 
And  when  she  is  old  and  gray 

Some  dear  child  may  be  to  her 
Precious  comforter  and  stay." 

But  the  angels  pass  her  by, 

Leave  her  weary,  worn  and  old, 

Gathering  Rose,  another  lamb 

For  the  Heavenly  Shepherd's  fold. 

One  sweet  thought  poor  Grandma's  mind 
From  its  sorrow  can  divide  ;  — 

'•  1  shall  not  be  lonely  now 
When  I  reach  the  other  side. 

"  Many  faces  I've  forgot, 
For  they  went  so  long  ago; 

But  this  darling,  last  and  best, 
I  am  sure  that  I  shall  know." 


SECOND  CHILDHOOD.  131 


So  she  sits  with  patient  smiles 
In  her  ancient  chair  all  day, 

Every  earthly  tie  dissolved, 
Waiting  to  be  called  away. 


PAT'S  DOLL. 

POOR  little  Pat  is  so  sickly  and  lame 
He  never  has  walked  as  other  boys  do; 
But  he  lies  in  his  bed,  or  sits  in  his   chair, 
Summer  and  winter,  the  whole  year  through. 

Nothing  he  sees  of  the  great  wide  world 

From  his  chamber  window  so  narrow  and  high, 

But  the  dusty  houses,  and  dustier  streets, 
And  a  sunless  strip  of  the  cold  northern  sky. 

Sometimes  he  watches  with  curious  eyes 
His  sturdy  young  cousins  Teddy  and  Mike, 

Wading  in  puddles,  and  sailing  chip-boats, 

And  he  cannot  guess  what  such  pleasures  are  like. 


PAT'S  DOLL.  133 

Many  long  hours  alone  he  must  stay, 

While  the  hard-working  mother  goes  out  here  and  there 
Washing  and  scrubbing,  the  money  to  earn 

That  furnishes  scanty  shelter  and  fare. 

But  a.  strange  thing  happened  not  long  ago, 
A  messenger  came,  and  left  at  the    door 

A  doll,  of  wonderful  beauty  and  size, 

And,  "  A  present  for  Pat,"  was  the  mark  that  it  bore. 

O  what  delight !  for  a  desolate  heart 
To  claim  for  its  own  a  creature  so  fair, 

With  her  mouth  forever  so  smiling  and  sweet, 
With  her  round  rosy  cheeks,  and  soft  flaxen  hair ! 

Pride  and  happiness  lift  him  as  high 
As  ever  the  heir  of  a  throne  could  be, 

When  he  holds  her  up  to  the  dingy  pane, 
For  the  urchins  Teddy  and  Mike  to  see. 


134  PAT'S  DOLL. 

Now  he  believes  what  the  old  stories   tell, 
How  the   small  fairies  appear  now  and  then, 

Bringing  large  gifts  in  mysterious  ways 

To  cheer  and  comfort  the  children  of  men. 

Oh!  how  she  blesses  and  brightens  the  days, 
Softening  the  hardships  of  hunger  and  cold ; 

How  the  good  spirits  above  and  below 

He  thanks  for  this  treasure  td  have  and  to  hold. 


BIRDS  IN    AUTUMN. 

DEAR  little  birds,  'tis  your  time  to  go 
Ere  the    winter  comes  with  its   drifting  snow 
The  beautiful  work  of   summer  is  done, 
And  you  must  follow  the  track  of  the  sun. 

The  leaves  fall  fast   through   the   hazy   air, 
And  the  tree-tops  rustle   deserted  and   bare, 
While  the   nests  you   builded    in  joyful  May 
The   winds  have  carelessly   scattered   away. 

Bee   and   butterfly  seek  no  more 

'Mid   honeyed  blossoms   their   food   and   store, 

For  the   fower-stalks  lie   on   the   cold,  brown    earth, 

Crushed   by   the   frosts  in   their  pitiless    mirth. 


BIRDS   IN  AUTUMN. 

There   are   southern   lands  where  gardens   still  grow, 
While  soft  warm  breezes  about   them   blow; 
Where   fruits   hang   ripe    in    the    sun's    full   rays, 
And  shed  their  sweets   through   the   long,  bright  days. 

The   cricket   chirps   loudly,    "  Haste,  do   not   delay !  " 
And  the  groves  of  the  South  call,  "  Come,  come  away  !  " 
You   shall   reach   fairer   shores  on  unerrin^   wino* 

C3  &' 

Then  go  little  birds,  and  return  with  the  spring. 


THE  DEAD  HORSE. 

DEAD  !  Our  Fanny,  the  gentle  horse 
That  kept  so  long  on  her  faithful  way, 
And  carried  her  master  over  the  roads, 
Through  storms  and  sunshine,  from  day  to  day. 

All  the  village  places  were  known  to  her, 

Often  she  visited  market  and   mill, 
Going  wherever  her  duty  might  call, 

With  a  steady  pace  and  contented  will. 

One  brook  she  loved,  whose  waters  come  down 
From  higher  meadows,  with   shadow  and  gleam, 

Down  past  the  willow,  the  iris  and  rose, 
Hurrying  on  to  a  larger  stream. 


F38  THE  DEAD  HORSE. 

Here  she  would  pause,  and  mutely  entreat 
Permission    to   taste   the  exhilarant   tide ; 

Lingering   fondly  amid   the  waves 
That  prattled  and  tempted  on  every  side. 

Many  a  traveler  trudging  on  foot 

Hailed   her  approach   as   a  vision  of  cheer ; 

And  never  was   loitering   boy  afraid 
A  ride  to  solicit  when  she  drew  near. 

Still  flows  the  brook  from  its  hidden  springs, 
Past  willow  and  iris,  with  shadow  and  gleam  ; 

But  the  horse  that  loved  it  is  seen  no  more, 
Her  life  is  merged  in  the  larger  stream. 

Out   in   the   orchard   her  grave   is   made, 

Where   in  the   spring-time   the   white  blossoms  blow, 
Where  in   the   summer  the   oriole   sings, 

Where  in  the  autumn   the  apples   hang  low. 


THE  DEAD  HORSE.  139 

Though  others   as  worthy  may  come   and   go, 
With  friends  their  virtues  and  graces   to   tell, 

None  in   our  hearts   can   ever  displace 
This  gentle  old   Fanny,   we  knew  so   well. 


RED-RIDING-HOOD. 

TT  THEN   will  the   quaint   old   story  lose  its  charm? 

V  V       The   story  of  the  little  artless  maid, 
Who  all  too  innocent  to  dream  of  harm 

Met   danger   unafraid. 

Fair  as  we   fancy   angels,  and   as  good, 
Who   has   not  seen   her   in   youth's   fairy-land 

Wrapped  in   her  scarlet  cloak  and  dainty  hood, 
With  basket   in   her   hand  ? 

Who  has  not  followed  her  as  thus  she  trips 
Along  her  way  with  quick,  unconscious   feet, 

With   merry  songs  upon   her  rosy  lips, 
Or  laughter  gay  and  sweet  ? 


RED-RIDING-HOOD. 

Intent  on   ministries   of  love   and   cheer, 
Her  eager  thoughts   fly  bird-like   on   before 

To  where  the  lonely  grandame   waits   to   hear 
Her  light  touch   at   the   door. 

Against  her   cunning  foe   she   asks   no   shield, 
His   snares   excite   nor   terror   nor   surprise  ; 

Alike   are   shadowy   wood   and   open    field 
Beheld  with   guileless   eyes. 

As  on   she  goes   unmindful   of  the  gloom, 
Such   Heavenly  •  graces   all   her   ways   endue 

That  flowers  might  choose  beneath  her  steps  to  bloom, 
Of  beauty   strange  and   new. 

Immortal   type  of  innocence   and   truth ! 

Long  as  affections  gather  round  the  good, 
The   dwellers  in   the  fairy-land   of  Youth 

Shall    love   Red-Riding-Hood. 


GIVE  AND  TAKE. 

BRINDLE  loiters  home  at  eve, 
Answering  her  milking-cal), 
Snatching   mouthfuls   as  she  goes 
Of  the  grasses   fresh  and   tall ;  — 

Pauses  gravely  now  and  then, 
Breathing  comfort  in  the  air ; 

Rubs  against  a  splintered  rail, 
Leaving  there  a  wisp  of  hair. 

Thus,  at   length   she   seeks   her   shed, 
Heedless   of  all   consequence, 

Never   knowing   that   she  gave 
Such   a   treasure   to   the   fence. 


GIVE   AND  'TAKE.  143 

But   a  bird  that  lingered  near 

Sees  the   gift  with   quick   delight ; 
Gathers  it,   and  bears  it  off 

To  her  chosen  building-site. 

There,   with   finest  hay  'tis  wrought 

To  the  shape  that  suits  her  best; 
And  the  searching  sunshine  finds 

In  the  fields  no  fairer  nest. 

V 

Later,  her  maternal  care 

Daily  work  and  pleasure  brings; 
And  at  eventide  she  sits 

With  her  young  ones  'neath  her  wings ; 

Watching  with  a  grateful  glance 

From  her  habitation  small. 
Brindle  loitering  down  the  lane. 

Answering  her  milking-call. 


CRADLE  SONG. 

NOW  with  loving  mother-touch 
Make  the  Baby's  cradle-bed, 
On  its  pillow  soft  and  white 

Gently  lay  his  drooping  head  ; 
Up  and  down,  up  and  jjown, 

Let.  the  rockers  smoothly  go  ; 
Down  and  up,  down  and  up, 
Soothing  him  to  slumber  so. 


Now  the  hands  their  playthings  drop, 

Losing  all  their  little  skill, 
And  the  weary  eyelids  close, 

And  the  rose-bud  mouth  is  still  ; 


CRADLE   SONG. 


Up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
Let  the  rockers  smoothly  go  ; 

Down  and  up,  down  and  up, 
Soothing  him  to  slumber  so. 

Music  from  the  mother-voice 

Breathes  above  him  sweet  and  clear, 
Telling  of  the  Heavenly  Love, 

And  of  guardian  angels  near; 
Up  and  down,  up  and  down, 

While  the  rockers  smoothly  go; 
Down  and  up,  down  and  up, 

Soothing  him  to  slumber  so. 

Sunshine  glare  is  screened  away, 
Hushed  is  every  sound  of  dread, 

Velvet-footed  moves  the  world 
Round  the  cherished  sleeper's  bed  ; 


[46  CRADLE   SONG. 

Up  and  down,  up  and  clown, 
While  the  rockers  smoothly  go 

Down  and  up,  down  and  up, 
Soothing  him  to  slumber  so. 


WISHING  AND  WORKING. 

,  beautiful  lily,  come  sweetest  of  blossoms," 
Repeats  the  young  wisher,  outstretching  his   hand, 
"  I  long  to  possess  you,  but  dread  the  dark  water, 
Oh !  come  to  me  where  on  the  margin   I   stand : 

"  For  I  am  no  swimmer,  and  own  little  knowledge 

In  fitting  a  vessel  or  using  an  oar, 
My  holiday  raiment  suits  not  rough  adventure, 

Then,  come  to  me  here  on  the  smooth,  tranquil  shore." 

••  Ah  no ! "  says  the  lily,   "  stand  there  on  the  margin 
Through  daylight  and  darkness,    I  come   not  to  you; 

I  keep  in  all  seasons  my  distance  and  dangers, 
And  wait  for  a  conqueror  valiant  and  true. 


J  WISHING  AND   WORKING. 

"  I  watch  for  his  coming,   I   know  his  behavior, 
He  swims  like   the  wild-duck,  and  bounds  like  the  deer  ; 

He  shrinks  not  for  peril  nor  spoiling  of  raiment, 
And  works  with  unwavering  purpose  and  cheer. 

"And  when  I  behold   him  draw  nearer,  and  nearer, 
I'll  fail  not  to  greet  him  with  welcoming  sweet  ; 

For  beauty's  the  guerdon  of  daring  and  labor, 
And  gladly  I'll  lay  all  my  worth  at  his  feet." 


W 


GRANDMOTHER'S  CAP. 

HAT  has  become  of  Grandmother's  cap 

She  spread  with  care  on   the  grass  one  night, 
Close  by  the  blossoming  lilac-bush, 
To  bleach  in  the  clews  and  moonbeams  white? 

Has  human  malice,  or  elfin  guile 

Plundered  the  gossamer  web  in   play? 

Or  reckless  winds  from  the  east  of  west 
Wafted  it  far  from  her  sight  away? 

No  answer  comes  to  her  faithful  search 
From  the  earth-fields  green,  or  the  sky-fields  blue 

And  what  has  become  of  her  finest  cap 

Is  Grandmother's  wonder  the  summer  through. 


150  GRANDMOTHER'S  CAP. 

The  Robins  could  tell,  Dame  Redbreast  knows, 
For  at  early  dawn  one  morning  in   May 

Seeking  her  building-stores  she  came 
Where  the  bleaching  lace  'mid  the  dew-drops  lay. 

She  seized  it,  and  flew  with  her  helpful  mate 

To   the  half-made  nest  on  the  apple-tree, 
*  Where  they  deftly  wove  it  with   twigs  and   straws, 
Chatting  and  singing  in  frolicsome  glee. 

But  when  the  lilac,   lily  and  rose 

Had  bloomed  and  faded  in  retinue  sweet, 

When  summer  birdlings  were   fledged  and  flown, 
And  autumn  winds  round  the  hill-tops  beat  ; 

From  the  leafless  bough  of  a  gnarled  old  tree 
A  nest  was  hanging  in  ruins  forlorn, 

While  a  fluttering  fragment  of  lace   revealed 
Grandmother's  head-dress  spoiled  and  torn. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  CAP.  151 


With   a  frown   she   viewed  the  precious   remains 

Of  use  and   beauty  alike  bereft; 
But  smiled  soon  at   thought   of  the  by-gone  spring, 

The   Redbreast   pair  and   their   mischievous   theft. 


LITTLE  SISTER. 

LITTLE  Sister.  Rooea  in  wnite, 
There  with  folded  hands  she  lies, 
Breathless  silence  on  her  lips, 
Endless  slumber  on  her  eyes. 

Leaving  earth  with  no  regrets 
Clinging  to  her  Heavenward  feet, 

All  that  she  has  known  of  life 

Was  to  grow  more  fair  and  sweet. 

Yesterday  she  was  our  own; 

Ours  to  comfort,  love  and  teach  ; 
Now  she  seems  a  wondrous  star, 

Shining  far  beyond  our  reach. 


LITTLE   SISTER.  I  S3 

Lay  the  scattered   toys   aside, 

Fold   the  little   clothes  away, 
Smooth  the   empty  cradle-bed 

No  more  needed  day  by  day ;  — 

Angels  shall  attend  her  now 

With  immortal  food  and  rest, 
Leading  her  with  tenderest  care 

Through  the  gardens  of  the  blessed. 


THE  ORGAN  PLAYER 

SEE,  where  he  comes,  the  king  of  drudges 
With  steady  step,  and  dauntless  mien, 
While  at  his  side  a  princess  trudges 
With  castanets  and  tambourine. 


No  threatened  ills  his  realm  besetting 
The  sunny  sky  with  shadows  mock  ; 

Her  royal  mood  holds  no  regretting 
For  shoeless  feet  and  tattered  frock. 

No  claims  have  they  to  name  or  station, 
To  house  or  lands,  to  state  or  town  ; 

Unfixed  by  home  or  occupation 
They  roam  the  country  up  and  down. 


THE   ORGAN   PLAYER.  I 5$ 

No  dreams  have  they  of  high  ambition, 

No  cares  of  plenty  or  of  pride, 
For  thus  endowed  is  their  condition 

With  ease  to  larger  fates  denied. 

They  gayly  laugh  and  talk  together 

In  their  own  sweet  Italian  tongue, 
As  if  earth  knew  no  clouded  weather, 

And  life  was  ever  glad  and  young. 

And  oft  at  door  and  window  staying 
They  ring  their  changes  o'er  and  o'er, 

While  eager  children  list   their  playing 
With  pence  in  hand  to  plead  for  more. 

And  thus  they  glean  in  their  progression 
Amid  the  wide  world's  harvest  hours  ;  — 

A  part  of  Summer's  fair  procession, 
To  vanish  with  her  birds  and  flowers. 


BROTHER'S  BEDTIME. 

OVER  the  hill-tops  has  vanished  the  sun, 
Daytime  is  ended,  the  nighttime  begun ; 
The  moon  with  her  countenance  half  turned  away, 
Gives  to  the  evening  the  best  light  she  may. 

All  weary  creatures  now  haste  to  their  home ; 
Up  from  the  pastures  the  cattle  have  come; 
The  downy  young  chickens  have  gone  to  their  rest, 
Under  the  hen-mother's  wings  softly  pressed. 

Slowly  the  flowers  their  gay  petals  close, 

Gratefully  yielding  to  dewy  repose ;  — 

The  bee  in  the  hollyhock  lingering  late, 

Is  caught  in  her  chamber  till  morning  to  wait. 


BROTHER'S  BEDTIME.  157 

Up  in  the  tree-branches  leafy  and  dim 
Robins  are  chanting  their  sweet  vesper  hymn ; 
Brightly  the  stars  twinkle  out  in  the  blue,  — 
"  Come,  little  Brother,  'tis  bedtime  for  you." 

Two  tired  hands  let  their  playthings  all  go, 
Two  tired  feet  up  the  stairway  climb  slow, 
Two  tired  eyes  droop  in  slumber's  eclipse, 
"Good  night,"  drops  faintly  from  two  tired  lips. 

Soft  be  the  pillow  beneath  his  fair  head, 
Light  be  the  covering  over  him  spread, 
Safety  and  Quiet,  keep  guard  round  the  place ! 
Fold  him  kind  Sleep,  in  a  gentle  embrace ! 

Wandering  dreams,  hover  gladly  above  ! 
Lead  him  through  pathways  of  pleasure  and  love, 
Till  darkness  and  silence  in  turn  slip  away, 
And  morning  recalls  him  to  action  and  play. 


POP-CORN. 

BURIED  in  darkness  under  the  ground 
Slowly  its  way  to  the  light  it  found, 
And  feeding  on  sunshine,  rain  and  dew, 
Through  all  the  long  bright  summer  it  grew 
Upward,  alike  amid  calms  and  storms 
Living  its  life  in  visible  forms, 
Shaping  each  leaf,  and  stalk  and  ear, 
Unconscious  of  harvest  drawing  near. 


And  when  its  seasons  were  duly  told, 
And  the  bountiful  year  was  growing  old, — 
Withered  by  heat,  and  chilled  by  frost, 
With  all  its  freshness  and  beauty  lost, 
'Tvvas  borne  from  the  desolate  field  away, 


POP- CORN. 


'59 


Husked  and  hidden  from  outer  day, 

Safely  to  rest  in  its  dim  retreat, ' 

Till  again  it  comes  forth  for  the  children  to  eat. 

This   indeed  is   its   final  stage, 
As   shelled   and   shut   in   an   iron   cage 
'Tis  tossed   and  shaken    in    fiery   heat, 
With  every  torture  growing   more   sweet, 
Till  all  its   heart   expands   to   the   light  — 
Softened   to   tenderness,  blossomed   in   white. 

We   like   the   corn    must   strive  and  toil 
To  lift   ourselves    from  the   darkness   and   soil ; 
And,  ah!  my  children,  you   may  he  sure 
Some    trials   are  good   for   us  to    endure, 
And    for  all    that   we   cheerfully   undergo 
Whiter   and  sweeter   the    heart   will   PTOW 


H 


THE  SNOW-BIRD. 

'E  is  the   Winter's   child, 

And  comes   when  winds  are  wild, 
When   the  sun  hides  his  face,  and  skies   aie  sad 
Then,  hurrying  to  and   fro, 
Tracking   the   smooth    new   snow, 
He  frolics  in  the  storm,  and  finds  life  glad. 


He  seeks  in  garden-walks 

The  withered    flower-stalks, 
Whose    secret  treasures    have  the  frost   withstood 

And   on    the  hoarded  seeds 

In    happy  haste   he   feeds, 
Calls   to  his  merry  mates,    and    finds  life   good. 


THE    SNOW-BIRD.  l6l 

Open  the  window  high, 

And  scatter  a  supply 
Of  generous  crumbs,   and   bid   him    welcome   here ; 

For  pleasant  is  the   sight, 

When   earth  is  cold  and    white, 
To  see  this  bonny   wanderer  hovering   near. 


COUNTING  THE  COST. 

SEE  this  little  girl  walking  the  street, 
Watch   her   twinkling,   dainty-shod  feet, 
How  her  eyes  gleam  unshadowed  by  care, 
How  her  face  glows  in  the  frosty  air  ! 

Look  at  her,  lifting  her   gay   silken    skirt 
Out   of  the    reach   of  the    dampness   and  dirt, 
With  the  fairest  hand  that  ever  was  hid 
In  the  delicate  depths  of  a  tiny  kid. 

Her  hat  is  made  of  the  richest  stuff, 
And  she  carries  in  triumph  the  smallest  muft, 
Which  she  often  fondles  against  her  cheek, 
As   if  she   would   win   it  to   feel   and   speak. 


COUNTING    THE  COST.  163 

Walking  the  street  on  its  sunniest  side, 
She  does  not  dream  in   her  holiday  pride 
What  kingdoms  their  tribute  to   her  must  pay, 
She  counts  not  the  cost  of  her  brilliant  array. 

How  the  world  is  striving  she  does   not   know 
That  art  and  beauty  may  live  and  grow, 
And  the  daily  prices  of  utmost  pain 
That  life  is   giving  its  wealth  to   gain. 

Ah,  careless   maiden  !  just   think   of  that ! 
When   you  tie    the    strings    of  your  jaunty    hat 
With   its   ostrich    feathers   drooping   down 
All   round   the   buckled  and   banded   crown. 

Think  of  the   frightened   bird   that  was   chased 
Over   the   sands   of  a  torrid   waste, 
With  the   speed   of   a  courser  flying   in   vain, 
For  its   precious  plumage   captured  and   slain. 


COUNTING    THE  COST. 

While   the   ravished   spoils   by  relentless  hands 

Were   carried   far   off  to   distant  lands, 

To   deck   with   their   fragile  loveliness 

Such   a  thoughtless  little  girl's   winter  dress. 

No   pictures   are   rising   before   her  eyes 
Of  eternal    snows,   and   polar    skies, 
And   stalwart  huntsmen  in   garments   rude, 
Lords   of  the   desolate  solitude;  — 

From   out   this   region   of  darkness   and   cold 
Bringing  warmth    and   comfort,    splendor  and  gold, 
Sables   of   richness    beyond    compare, 
Ermines   a  princess   might   covet   to  wear. 

Walking  through  life   on  its   sunniest  side, 
She   does   not  .dream   in  her   beauty  and   pride 
What   kingdoms   their  tribute   to   her  must   pay, 
She  counts  not  the   cost  of  her  brilliant   array. 


M19195; 


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